


Vie et Destin

by the_rennwood_dreamer



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friendships all around - Freeform, Hela - Freeform, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Marvel Universe, SLIGHT abuse warning, Thor Feels, Thor Ragnarok SPOILERS, Thor Spoilers, Warning: Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12733626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rennwood_dreamer/pseuds/the_rennwood_dreamer
Summary: Life and Fate . . . They were the same, in the end. They influenced each other . . . Just like two people, making their ways in the universe . . . Two people, who had nothing in common, and yet changed the courses of each others' lives . . . Two people, Odin and Farbauti, their stories connected and intertwined forever. This is the tale of a brave woman whose life and fate is tied to the royal family of Asgard, for better or for worse. (One-shot. Minor SPOILERS for Thor: Ragnarok)





	Vie et Destin

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope you enjoy this one-shot, which was inspired by Thor: Ragnarok (SPOILER warning!!), and a conversation with my sister about Hela's parentage.

OOOOOO

No one knew where Hela came from. She was Odin’s daughter, that was all. She was powerful, determined, and . . . motherless. Even Hela herself had no idea who birthed her. She had influential women in the court who raised her and treated her as their own. But she had never seen her own mother. She might have been spawned from a rock giant for all she knew.  
What she did know, however, was that her mother was Aesir, and very beautiful. Odin would, on occasion, tell Hela tales of a woman shrouded in black, who spoke with a lilting voice and whose skin shone white as the stars in the distant sky. No name was ever spoken, and no other descriptive features were revealed. But this woman, according to Odin, was quick, clever, and a powerful warrior. She had a tongue of silver and a will of steel. She was the dark of night, she was the bright of day, and she was everything in between.  
Hela often dreamed of what Odin must have done to capture the attention of this mysterious woman. Her father was wise, solemn, and yet his eyes held a certain spark which betrayed his quick wit. The two seemed as different as east and west, and yet . . . Yet somehow, the two had found each other in the endless space called Yggdrasil, like two meteors meeting, colliding, and ending in a shower of sparks and crushed dreams. 

OOOOOO

Farbauti was her name.  
She was a commoner. A peasant. As a child, she wandered the streets of Asgard, parentless, homeless, and utterly alone. She fed off scraps, crouching behind merchant’s carts with the rats. Her water came from the streams that flowed through the rocky countryside, and her shelters moved with her. And she liked it that way.  
She’d forgotten what having parents felt like . . . what it was to have someone care for her, to see to it that she was full and warm. She’d forgotten what it was to have enough to eat.  
She was a young adult before she found a permanent home. A position opened at the palace, and she was the first in line. Farbauti was accepted, and assigned a place in the servant’s wing, working as a scullery maid. But she didn’t care. She had a home, she had food every day, and she had books . . .  
Books and knowledge and people’s company was all that kept her sane. She read and read, through the night whenever she woke to the echoing noises of the palace. Her days were drowned in fog, a daily grind, a struggle to make it through. But Farbauti was creative. Her imagination kept her alive.  
Year after year she cleaned the palace, hauling coal, mopping floors, reading books. One day, King Bor was declared dead. The funeral was beautiful. He rose in a shower of gold, swirling up, away from the Asbru bridge, toward the high-reaching stars that lit the sky with their splendor. Farbauti watched from her tiny window in the dark servant’s wing.  
Odin’s coronation was the next day. Farbauti watched, wide-eyed and breathless. Oh, how that staff would feel in her slender hand, how that power would invigorate her from the heart, through her whole body. Oh, how handsome the new king was, with his flowing red hair and clean-shaven jawline.  
Farbauti was promoted to chamber maid. She was to assist the women of the court in whatever they might need: dressing and the like. She floated through the days. Occasionally she would catch glimpses of the king and his friends practicing in the courtyard. She longed to be there, with them. A warrior.

OOOOOO

Her life changed one day, when she was making her way through the huge palace grounds.  
The sun shone. Birds chirped. Farbauti, raven hair swaying with her steps, gazed up at the gleaming gold of the palace, in awe of her home for the thousandth time. Her hands tingled, a slight green light weaving through them. She snapped her fingers, and the light rocketed outward, up a nearby tree. The light became two tendrils, and she heard the crack of a twig. And suddenly, the twig was in her hand, and the light was gone.  
She laughed, continuing through the gardens, up the stairs, into the courtyard . . . where King Odin and his warriors practiced. Farbauti stopped, gazing intently, memorizing their every move. Dodge, swing, block, parry, stab, thrust . . . Steel against steel sounded through the circular training grounds. Men shouted, grunting with every step and swing, women chatted as they swept through, their shimmering skirts catching the morning light. Farbauti felt inferior in her drab brown dress. She had found scraps of green and gold materials over the years, and she planned to sew herself a dress someday, when she had enough. But for now, she only had her peasant clothes. She was not important enough to be issued nicer garments from the palace.  
Her eyes rested on the king. He was not as tall as his other men, but he was strong, and power radiated from his core. Everyone respected him, and he commanded it. Farbauti longed to speak to him, to exchange just one word. To maybe win his favor. She would have stood even with him. They would be the same. But she would have magic and cunning and he would have wisdom and strength. They would make a perfect pair.

OOOOOO

So, she began. Each day she walked a bit closer to the warriors. Each day she heard sharper the clanging of their weapons. Each day she smelled better the thick sting of their sweat. Each day she saw clearer the gleam of their armor, the swish of their hair, the fierceness of their eyes.  
Every prince must choose warriors to be his trusted right-hand men. Odin had chosen four. They were all tall, powerful, and muscular. King Odin stood half a head shorter than them. Farbauti was entranced with the way he held his own, commanding them, and yet being a part of their elite group as an equal. He held their attention, their respect, and their friendship.  
Finally, her efforts paid off. She caught his eye. That day, she had twirled her gleaming black hair into a winding knot at the nape of her neck, leaving a few wavy tendrils to fall around her face. She had practiced walking in the palace halls when she knew she was alone. Her hips swayed seductively, her feet falling in a straight line, tapping the stone lightly. She had scrubbed and pressed her best frock, one made of finely-woven cashmere.  
More importantly, however, she practiced sword fighting. Not exactly, since she used two dull, rusty daggers she had found in the basement one day, but in the morning, when the whole palace slept, she would creep out to that rocky terrain which used to be her home, and she would practice stances, blocks, stabs, and all the technique she remembered from watching King Odin and his men. She found an old whetstone and began to rub down the rust on her daggers. She polished them on rocks and wood until they shone. Then she used the stone to sharpen the blades until she could slice a piece of parchment from edge to edge with no resistance.  
She found a broadsword once. After swinging it a few times, she decided that daggers were her forte. She kept them.  
Farbauti knew she was attractive. Her figure was shapely and lean from hard work. Her hair was feathery and light, but black like a raven’s wing. She had a sort of look which intimidated people: piercing, calculating, and questioning. She knew men stared when she walked through the hallways, even in her drab work clothing. She counted on that fact, and it worked.  
As she strolled past the group of warriors, she glanced up, through her long eyelashes. And Kind Odin’s blue, searching gaze found hers. The sun seemed to shine brighter. As a few moments stilled and stretched into eternity, her heart stopped as well. Odin’s chest heaved from exertion, but even that slowed. Not a bird chirped.  
She forced herself to keep walking, feeling his eyes on her all the way to the end of the courtyard.  
Farbauti’s breath caught in her throat, and her feet practically lifted into the air. She choked on her own laughter, skipping giddily like a child. She had done it. Only time could tell what would happen next.

OOOOOO

“What kept you?”  
Farbauti skidded to a stop, heaving the basket onto the shelf. “Sorry, ma’am, it was such a gorgeous morning.”  
“That is an observation, not an excuse,” Eerika admonished. “You are normally punctual, young lady. Tell me, what is worthy of your attention today?”  
She hesitated, avoiding the question. “Eerika, what do you know of the king and his warriors? Do they allow women to join them?”  
Eerika’s eyebrows flew upward. “Why, Farbauti, why ever would you need to know?”  
“Humor me.”  
“Well,” the woman let out a sigh, “the elite warriors are chosen by the king himself, no one else. One cannot weasel themself into the group; one must be welcomed and selected. It is an interesting process. The king holds a tournament every so often, when he wishes to add to his group, in which warriors might show off their skills. Then the king fights them one-on-one, weeding out those he deems weak. The remaining he chooses from.”  
Interesting. “Will one of these be held soon?”  
“I do not know. Now, please, get to work. You are already late to Mistress Dagny’s chamber. Run along, Farbauti, I will see you this evening.”  
“Yes, ma’am.” 

OOOOOO

The palace halls echoed, almost menacingly. There was next to no light. Shadows danced on the walls, imitating shapes of people. Farbauti held her left hand, palm up, outstretched into the darkness. She reached deep into her own mind, finding those tendrils of green, weaving their way through her consciousness. Tugging on one, she removed it, pulling it toward her fingers . . . which lit up with a flash. She snapped her fingers, and the light condensed into a perfect sphere, hovering just above the base of her knuckles.  
She was in high spirits. The king was holding a tournament that day. And Farbauti had entered. Any Aesir was welcome to enter, but only one would be selected. She had polished and sharpened her daggers until they glinted. The helmet she found in the woods, she had cleaned up and restored, also. It was a beautiful piece: sleek and small, made for a woman. It was a glimmering golden metal, with two horns that extended from the sides and curled back and upward, almost touching behind her head. Two more balanced the whole thing in the front, curving over her brow. Her armor was the finest she could afford. She had a gleaming golden bodice, complete with chain mail and leather straps to hold her daggers. The chain skirt in the front fell to her mid-thigh, splitting in the front, revealing black leather leggings. She wore intricate golden bracers on her arms, and her boots melded into bronze plates that covered her knees.  
It had been nearly fifty years since she found those daggers and began to practice. She had matured a bit: her hips filled out, her face lost any remaining baby fat, and her whole body was strong, lean, and knife-like. She was ready.

OOOOOO

Farbauti had never seen such a crowd since the king’s coronation. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves. All of a sudden, she was in the middle of the arena, under the blazing sun, her green and gold and black armor shimmering, and her eyes squinting against the sky.  
Right. First was magic demonstration. A dummy stood in the center of the arena. Farbauti pushed all thoughts of who she was performing for out of her mind, and focused on the present. She closed her eyes. The magic was at the forefront of her mind, pounding against her head, begging to be released. Her eyes snapped open. She waved two fingers, harnessing the floating tendrils perfectly. They shot from her fingertips, streaking toward the dummy, twisting and curling around its neck. She made a tugging motion and the dummy’s head rolled to her feet. The audience cheered suddenly, startling Farbauti. But she continued, a tiny grin creeping up on her face.  
She extended her left arm, flipping out her fingers one at a time, as if counting. The green threads wound, one by one, around the dummy’s body. She flicked her wrist, and the body flew into the air. Her right hand shot forward, palm up. A blast of green light met the dummy, mid-flight. It swelled and swelled, and suddenly burst with a shower of wood, cloth, and metal. Again, the audience shrieked, clapping and cheering.  
Grinning devilishly, Farbauti spun, green threads surrounding her like a cage. She twirled around . . . around . . . around . . . And the threads released, still spinning. From every group of strings there formed a replica of herself, starting at a sprint around the arena. She raised her hands, guiding each one like a marionette. The copies raised their own hands, waving at the audience with every rotation. Each grabbed a weapon from the pile at one end, and began to fight each other. Farbauti joined them, still controlling their movements, while demonstrating perfect stances and swings with the long, thin sword she had picked up. Then she dropped it and raised her hands again. Her copies flew into the air, and disappeared with a shower of sparks.  
The audience went crazy. Farbauti took bows, to all four sides of the arena.  
And she was finished. 

OOOOOO

Her fight with the king was a private affair. The spectators were to leave, to allow the king his space and concentration.  
Farbauti, energized from her show previously, nearly pranced into the smaller arena. But as soon as her eyes landed on King Odin, a slight chill began at her fingertips and traveled down to her heart.  
“My king,” she greeted, dropping to one knee and clamping her right fist over her heart.  
“Rise,” came the deep, rich voice. He completed the formalities. “To whom do I owe this pleasure?”  
“Farbauti, your highness,” she answered. “Chamber maid of the Palace of Asgard.”  
His right eyebrow raised minutely. “Interesting title for a warrior so fierce.”  
“Many thanks, Sire.”  
“But we will see how that fierce look holds, shall we?” His eyes gleamed with a challenge.  
“Yes, Sire.”  
And with that, he lowered his sword and charged. Farbauti was ready. Within the space of a blink, her hands flew to her back and the metallic shink of her daggers invaded her ears. She raised the blades in a cross above her head, blocking Odin’s incoming strike. She bent her elbows slightly and pushed, throwing his sword off-balance. She raised a foot and shoved off of his chest, using her other leg to jump and twist, landing back and sideways, one hand raised, and the other bracing herself on the ground. She took two huge leaps as Odin recovered from his fall, and the two met at full speed, steel against steel filling the arena.  
Daggers were meant for up-close fighting and strategic strikes, and broadswords were made for strength, and offered more distance. So the whole duel was a dance, Farbauti striking near, then twirling back, away from the strong blade, while Odin tried to take swing after swing, with the speed and strength of a mountain lion. But Farbauti was too quick. Lean and lithe, her body was perfect for dagger-fighting.  
Odin raised his sword again, intending a crosswise slice, but Farbauti dropped, rolled, and sliced at his leg, using the butt of her knife so as to not actually wound the king. He dropped to one knee, finishing his slice, and with that he trapped her arm in between his chest and arm. He released his sword, took a firm grasp on her elbow, and used the momentum to fling her over him. She landed on her back, while he kept rolling, ending in a kneeling position beside her, her elbow still pinned to his chest. With a split-second decision, Farbauti hooked a knee around his neck, pulling him down and flinging herself back up, around, her forearm braced against his neck, the dagger dangerously close to his artery. She straddled his chest, her knee in his gut.  
Their chests heaved, their breath intermingling in the hot atmosphere.  
“I surrender,” Odin grunted.

OOOOOO

Being a warrior of the king was a huge honor. For nearly fifty years, Farbauti traveled the Nine Realms. She broke out of her role as lowly servant, and entered the world of the wealthy. She fought, she partied, and she served her king. She was strong, dangerous, and terrifying to the people she encountered. And she began to love King Odin.  
That was terrifying to her. Yes, she had always thought he was handsome and mysterious, but so did every other woman in all the Nine Realms.  
She had no idea he reciprocated her feelings.  
But it became evident one night at a party. Things were out of hand. The liquor was flowing, and suffice it to say bad decisions were made. If they were ever found out, it could be counted as the biggest scandal in all of Asgard.  
So Farbauti ran away.  
She ran back to what she knew. She ran like there was nothing ahead of her, and all the monsters in the world behind her. 

OOOOOO

“Farbauti,” a whisper woke her from her restless dreams. “You called me?”  
The girl moaned. “Eerika.”  
“Yes?”  
“Please, get Sade.”  
As Eerika hurried off, Farbauti sobbed. She was in pain, both mental and physical. She laid in her bed, in a tiny hut. She had moved in with Eerika, and the older woman’s husband and three children. They lived in the countryside, far, far away from the palace. Just what Farbauti needed.  
The midwife hurried in. “Darling,” she soothed, “are you alright?”  
Tears stained the pillowcase. “Sade,” the girl managed, “help me.”

OOOOOO

Farbauti had always wondered about fate. It was such a vague concept. So broad, with so many possibilities. Fate could go any which way. No one knew their own fate in the end. Life was about discovering it. Life was Fate’s greatest enemy. Fate was an end. Life was a beginning. Fate was final. Done. Finished. Life was everything new, bright, real. It was the beginning of something amazing. It was vitality, hope, ambition. Fate was the end of all that.  
Life and Fate liked to intermingle. They worked with and against each other. Life caused Fate. Fate drove Life.  
How could she know her Fate and the purpose of her Life at the same time? It was impossible. They were both unreachable, and yet inevitable. They were a paradox. They were complimentary. And they were as different as East from West.

OOOOOO

She named the baby Lahela. And she cried every day, until her tears ran out, and all that was left of her was a cold outer shell that never smiled and only wanted to leave Asgard forever.  
Farbauti cradled her daughter close to her chest, creeping toward the palace. The one man she wished not to see sat outside in the courtyard.  
“My king,” she whispered. He whirled. The baby was a bundle of black cloths on her chest. Hidden.  
“My darling,” he breathed. “Brave Farbauti, why did you leave me?”  
She swallowed, a lump rising in her throat. “It was necessary, Sire.” She took a deep breath. “I must leave Asgard, my king. But I have come to say farewell and to bring you a parting gift.”  
Unwrapping the cloaks from her body, she revealed the tiny bundle.  
Odin watched, the corners of his eyes wrinkling like an old man. Farbauti surrendered the child to him. “She is yours,” the girl whispered. “Raise her as a princess.”  
The king cradled his daughter’s head. He swallowed. “What is her name?”  
“Hela.”  
They were silent. The baby stared at her father with huge, dark eyes. Odin ran a thumb along her cheek.  
“Farewell, my king.”  
And with that, Farbauti was gone.

OOOOOO

She had ways of travel between realms that even Heimdall couldn’t see. They were all dangerous, risky, and potentially deadly, but she was desperate.  
Farbauti’s heart filled with so much pain as she left her home and daughter behind that she vowed to never return. It was better to lock away her feelings than to deal with them over time.  
Time.  
She had too much time, and not enough. 

OOOOOO

“Eerika!” the girl screamed, skidding to a stop at her aunt’s feet.  
“What is it, darling?” The woman raised her head from a deep sleep, her raven-like hair falling into place. Her long, white, slender fingers reached for Bergljot’s smaller hand.  
Bergie was hysterical. “Mama says come quickly, there’s a war!”  
Instantly, three millennia flashed through her mind. A rocky cave. Books. Servant’s quarters. Shining golden halls. Leather armor. A king’s wise eyes. A baby wrapped in black. Midgard. Twenty villages. Different names each time. This was her favorite. War. Battles. Monsters. Nine realms. She was a warrior.  
She swept Bergie into her arms and flew to her friend’s hut. But she didn’t make it in time. Bergie’s mother stood outside with her two boys and her husband, and all the other villagers. Everyone stared at the blinding blue light in the distance. It brightened, flashed, and suddenly, monsters were everywhere. Huge, icy, blue monsters waded through the ocean, straight toward them.  
Farbauti’s instincts kicked in, after a thousand years of dormancy. She set Bergie down, and clapped her hands once. Instantly, she held a sphere of green energy in each hand. Shoving her hands forward, the light rocketed out, split into twenty separate blasts, and struck as many monsters in the chest. She repeated the action, over and over, but there were so many. She sent out threads of green, snapping neck after neck. But the monsters kept coming. She glanced over her shoulder and saw why.  
The Bifrost.  
A horse stood in the shadow of the bright beam. It reared. Farbauti gasped. The horse had eight legs.  
Odin.  
She sprinted back to the screaming villagers, spreading her arms and sending a shield around them. They hurried to the woods, away from both armies. But Farbauti turned to watch. She could fight. She had to protect her adopted family. She was the fiercest warrior in Asgard: the first maiden to be part of a king’s elite squad.  
In the chaos of evacuating the village, Farbauti found her adopted family, kissed them farewell, and melded into the Asgardian army.  
She had no weapons, just her magic and her wit. She pulled the hood of her cloak up, and wrapped the streams of magic around herself like a blanket, creating a nearly-impenetrable shield. Her hands glowed with energy. She was ready.  
The battle was short, bloody, and horrifying. She thought they had won . . . She lowered her shield . . . And something hit her over the head.  
Everything went black.

OOOOOO

When she woke, the first thing she felt was the cold. It felt vaguely like that chill that happens upon waking, but it didn’t go away.  
She blinked. Her hand moved. I’m alive, she realized. Then the panic set in.  
Gasping, she flailed her arms, scrambling to her feet. A voice called out desperately, “Shh, stop moving!”  
Her movements halted. Farbauti squinted against the dark. “Who’s there?”  
A woman stepped out from the shadows. She reminded Farbauti of her old friend Eerika. She felt more comfortable with that thought. The woman was short, sturdy, and had a soft gaze. “My name is Annbjorg. Are you well?”  
Farbauti rested a hand on her head. “I think so.”  
“You’ve been asleep for two days.”  
She sat down again. Ann came closer to look at her head. “Swelling has gone down. You will be just fine.”  
Farbauti leaned back on her elbows, searching Ann’s eyes. She seemed like a kind woman: helpful, caring, mother-like. “How long have you been here?”  
“Long as you have.”  
“Are we on Jotunheim?”  
She took the woman’s silence as confirmation.  
“As prisoners of war,” she guessed. “Did you fight with the Aesir?”  
“No, I was brought from Asgard.”  
Her voice obviously implied that no more questions were to be asked. Farbauti respected that. Her mind went into overdrive, right away. If she had only been there for two days, the war might still be going on. The Jotuns might still be gone. She opened her palm, lighting it up with the shining green orb that had come to be her only comfort on lonely nights on Midgard. Annbjorg’s eyes widened. “You’re a sorceress,” she whispered.  
“I am.” Farbauti made the sphere grow, engulfing both their faces in eerie light.  
“I have never seen magic of that sort.”  
Farbauti smiled. “I taught myself. With the help of some books.”  
Ann shook her head in amazement. “I grew up a merchant’s daughter, then a farmer’s wife. The only books I read were arithmetic and literature.”  
“I had access to the palace books,” was all Farbauti revealed. “Some of them, at least.” 

OOOOOO

The days on Jotunheim passed agonizingly slowly. Three full days went by before the Jotuns returned.  
Apparently, being a prisoner of war on Jotunheim meant that any of the Jotun men could do anything they pleased with the female prisoners.  
Farbauti was found by Laufey, the king, as beautiful. Annbjorg grabbed her arm as the soldiers pulled her from the prison. The woman sent a message with her eyes, compelling Farbauti to be strong.  
Jotunheim was a horrid, dark, depressing place. Asgard and Midgard had their snowy months, but even those were not completely covered in ice and fog and darkness. The sun usually still showed her face, offering a sense of warmth to the Earth’s inhabitants. But this ice planet was just that: ice.  
Farbauti had cloaked herself and Ann in magic to keep them warm. She had to fashion the spell from memory, from what she had learned a thousand years ago on Asgard. It was not perfect, but it kept them alive. 

OOOOOO

Laufey was exactly like the planet he ruled. Dark, cold, and frightening.  
Farbauti smirked as she was presented to him. “Beautiful planet you have here.” The Jotun guards clamped down harder on her arms, but she smashed a leg into the left one’s groin. He clamped down harder.  
The Frost Giant king growled, deep in his throat. “Feisty,” he observed.  
“Take this thing off my wrists, and I’ll show you just how feisty—” The other guard clapped a hand over her mouth.  
Laufey cackled. “Leave us,” he ordered. The guards spun on their heels and strode away.  
Shaking her head, Farbauti began to pull magic onto the handcuffs. In a moment, her hands were free. She launched herself at the king, body glowing with green energy. But suddenly, she froze, in midair. Stuck by some unseen magic of his.  
“Interesting trick,” Laufey growled. “But I prefer my women . . . calm.”

OOOOOO

The guards threw her back into the prison. Ann was waiting. “Oh, my darling, you look dreadful!”  
“I wonder why,” Farbauti ground out, through clenched teeth. Every muscle in her body shook, and she couldn’t feel her fingers or toes.  
Laufey had ruined her. Stripped her of her pride, dignity, honor, and everything in between. She tried to cast the warmth spell, but those green tendrils were nowhere to be found. She continued to shiver.  
“Come, come,” Ann bustled around, hauling the girl to her feet and guiding her, stumbling, to their makeshift shelter. “You’ll be just fine, just fine.”  
And suddenly, Farbauti began to sob. Earth-shattering convulsions racked her already-shaking body. A well deep inside her overflowed, and all the pent-up emotions from the last millennium escaped in ten minutes of screams.  
The whole time, Ann held her hands, stroked her hair, and murmured into her ear. 

OOOOOO

“Ann . . .” Farbauti began. “Do you notice anything different?”  
It had been two months in this prison. She had regained enough strength to cast the spell again. She and Ann talked and talked to while away the hours, sharing information, ideas, questions, answers, and everything else. She felt as if she knew this woman better than anyone else. They only had each other, in a tiny corner of a camp filled with strange creatures and men from all different corners of the universe.  
Ann said she didn’t notice anything.  
“Are you sure?” Farbauti pressed. She knew what was wrong. But she wanted to have it confirmed.  
“Darling, I would have told you already. Why, is something wrong?”  
Everything was wrong. This was not happening again. Farbauti knew the signs. It couldn’t be. It had to be a mistake.  
But it was not.  
Farbauti was carrying a child.

OOOOOO

When months passed, and word reached Laufey that his child was on the way, he summoned Farbauti to come live in the palace. Of course, she had to agree, so she was whisked away one day with hardly a goodbye to Annbjorg. The women exchanged a fervent hug, and words of encouragement.  
Those last months in the palace were worse than those she had spent with Ann. The palace was lonely, empty, cold, and impersonal. She was fed like a queen, but she knew it would not last.  
Finally, her son was born. He was perfect. She could not have loved him more if he were Aesir.  
But the day of his birth was shrouded in pain. Laufey hated his son. He despised the child, declaring him “too small” and “worthless.” He sent Farbauti back to the prison, handing the child over to a nurse. He wanted to decide what to do with the boy.  
The mother’s heart broke again. She screamed, fought every guard that came her way, while clutching her baby boy with all her strength. She could not let Laufey have him. Leaving Lahela with Odin to be raised as a princess of the Nine Realms was one thing. Having her only son murdered by his own father was another issue. And she would not go down without a fight. But she was weak from the birth, and there were too many Jotuns. She was overpowered. They pried her son from her arms, and dragged her back to Ann and the prison.  
A month later, war broke out on Jotunheim. Again she saw the bright flash of the Bifrost in the distance. 

OOOOOO

Farbauti often wondered about fate. She wondered about her own fate, her daughter’s, her son’s . . . She hoped their lives would not be worthless. She hoped her daughter would remember her, even just in dreams. She prayed, every chance she could, that her son would live. That his father would have mercy. She prayed that, by some unimaginable miracle, Odin would rescue him, bring him back to Asgard to live as a prince alongside his sister.  
Tell Odin to name him Loki, she pleaded with any power that might reside above the realms. Tell him how much I love him. Tell him I cry for him every day . . .  
She wondered if Life and Fate were not actually intertwined. She wondered if, maybe, one controlled the other, but they worked separately.  
Fate was inevitable. But the path of one’s Life could be changed. 

OOOOOO

“Ann,” she whispered.  
“Yes, darling?”  
“Thank you. For caring . . . for me.”  
The woman wiped her eyes, a single tear landing on Farbauti’s forehead. She kissed the spot. “You’re quite welcome.”

OOOOOO

Life was a funny thing. It could end so suddenly, all magic and power one possessed swiftly departing . . . along with all the pain, worry, and heartbreak.  
Finally, finally, Farbauti was free. 

OOOOOO


End file.
